


life is like a box of chocolates

by nayt0reprince



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Minor Angst, Post-December Spoilers, past bullying, valentine's day fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayt0reprince/pseuds/nayt0reprince
Summary: disappointingly bitter, half-eaten, trampled on, and given to him as a joke in one year; sweet, delicious, and made with care in another.





	life is like a box of chocolates

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey happy v-day y'all hope u get the confession of ur dreams or the chocolate sale on the 15th of ur fantasies. in the meantime, have some pre-game fic. enjoy! lemme know what u think!!

The air itself sparked and crackled from a tangible, excitable energy sprinkling the school corridors with an infectious enthusiasm spreading from student to student as they whispered to each other. Mishima, standing before his shoe locker with slumped shoulders and anxious glances, remained one of the few immune as an impending dread festering in his stomach. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and tore the shoe locker’s door open - the sharp _bang_ of metal clanging against metal caused him to flinch. He hesitated, gulping, before opening his eyes.

Empty. Centimeters upon centimeters of empty, blessed space, sans his dress code-approved shoes. 

He sighed, relieved, before exchanging sneakers. Perhaps his first year in middle school would, at long last, break the undesirable status quo. Perhaps his ever-optimistic mother would be right in saying things will be different this year. No one snickered behind him, no one pointed. Everyone ignored him, and for the first time, he felt _grateful_ for it. He wiped the claminess from his palms onto his pants and thanked the gods above for finally showing him their favor. He made a mental note to visit a shrine on his way home to make an offering.

Said-mental note was spiked into the garbage bin with great resentment shortly after sliding open the classroom door. His classmates chitter-chattered away their remaining free time; girls read aloud their latest handwritten confessions, and boys high-fived each other in celebration. Mishima avoided eye-contact as he shuffled towards his desk--his _desk._ On top of his desk, a small box, adorned with a pink, glittering ribbon that shimmered underneath the light, beckoned his undivided, hyper-fixated attention. 

For a moment, he almost asked Hope for a dance, infatuated with the idea that someone actually wanted to get _him_ something. The box appeared pristine, with nary a dip or bend in its immaculate cardboard construction. Clean, like freshly polished gymnasium floors. His fingers twitched in his pockets, eager to yank the ribbon aside, desperate to find out who decided to spare him some attention. Who? He glanced from the corner of his eyes - no one was looking at him, perhaps someone from another class? 

He gulped. His fingers quivered like the last dead leaf on a barren tree’s flimsy branch in a whipping late autumn’s wind. _Who,_ the wind cried, and Mishima hadn’t an answer upon the leaf tearing off the branch as he removed the ribbon with anxious care.

He opened the box in almost slow-motion. Was this a dream? Was this really happening? Even outside, the sun was shining, the winter birds were singing, and everything seemed to be _okay_ for once.

Although, if those Greek mythology books Mishima’s mother read to him as a child for bedtime stories taught him anything, he ought to know better than to open Pandora’s Box.

The stench came first, an odious odor causing him to choke, shoulders raising in alarm. He slammed the box shut, eyes widening, before slowly opening it again. The chocolate - what probably used to be chocolate - appeared half-devoured and soiled, with dirt and other questionable contents littering the flimsy tray. He bit his bottom lip and noticed the wrinkled, sealed envelope taped underneath the box’s top, the sloppily written “To: Mishima :)” staring back at him, surrounded by a devilish aura. With trepidation, he plucked the letter as it did with his heartstrings. He almost gave himself a papercut when slicing the envelope open. 

It wasn’t even a card; just a slip of paper that may have been crushed beneath a fist at one point.

_Happy Valentine’s Day, you Zero._

_From: Nobody_

“Hey you.”

An oppressive weight pressed suddenly onto his shoulders. The distinct cologne, smarmy attitude, and cocky tone could only belong to the beloved class clown, Akiyama. Damn it. Damn _him._ Mishima ground his teeth together. 

“Hey,” Akiyama coaxed, a little louder, “what’d you think of your present? We all worked and thought real hard about what to get you.” He grinned - feigned and fickle friendliness oozing from every orifice in his face - and patted Mishima’s back just a bit too hard. “Aw, why’re you giving me the silent treatment? It’s a _joke._ You can take a joke, right?”

An audience of roughly twenty leering eyes and hidden smiles watched Mishima’s waltz with Hope come to a dramatic, grizzly end, and bore witness to him becoming Dismay’s new partner. His hands, resting lamely on his thighs, balled into fists, nails digging into his uniform’s pants. He could already hear the faintest titters among the girls, and glimpsed at several smirks from the other boys. 

Middle school would be no different, after all. Mom was wrong. 

“I asked you a question, _buddy,_ ” Akiyama whispered into his ear.

Mom was _always_ wrong. She thought he would become somebody, make a name for himself, become a legend like Hercules, when in actuality, he could only lament alone in the woods about fate’s cruelty like the heartbroken and downtrodden Orpheus. Nobody wanted to read a legend about a cowardly nobody for inspiration - only for laughs. The butt of a joke. A lesson in what _not_ to be.

It was so pathetic, he started to laugh along with the others. It was all he could do, other than become a miserable wreck as he did in the past. Akiyama blinked, surprised, before his grin widened. Mishima shrugged.

“Haha,” he managed, struggling to maintain a casual demeanor, “very funny, guys. You got me.” _Again._

_And again, and again, and again, and_

(He kicked off his boots after returning home, box snug tight into his side. He could hear his mom humming in the kitchen, fingers drumming along the countertop. The radio jammed out some catchy pop tune from its crackling speakers, one he couldn’t quite place the name to, but definitely heard once or thrice before. She stopped humming as he trudged by.

“Welcome home, Yuuki! How did school go today? Did anyone remember?”

_No._ “Mm.”

She put down her utensil and sauntered over to him, eyes locking onto the box before shifting her gaze to his face. He desperately willed his expression to not betray him. “My! Is that a present? What did you get?”

“Chocolate.”

She clapped her hands together. “Oh! That’s a start, isn’t it? I’m so happy for you, Yuuki. I told you, didn’t I? Things will be different from here on out.”

He curled his toes and pressed them hard against the wooden floors, hoping the physical pain would distract his thoughts from the emotional one. “Yeah.”

“Hurry, hurry!” She pushed him toward the stairs. “Go get cleaned up, and we can celebrate. I _may_ have made you a special treat for your special day.” 

“Don’t you make it every year?”

“Now, now. Hush, dear child. It’s supposed to be a surprise.” She _tsked_ before standing on her tip-toes and smooching him atop his head. Her bright smile almost brought him to tears, but he somehow managed to keep it together.

“Happy birthday,” she said in a sing-song voice, “Yuuki.”

He threw away the box after cleaning up. The less his mother knew, the better. He would at least pretend to be brave, for her sake. He sucked in a sharp breath, smiled at his doting mother, and pretended to be surprised when she revealed she made crepes)

_again,_

(like she did every year since he turned six. As he swallowed down the bitter dark chocolate, he made a promise to himself to not be tricked like that. He wouldn’t expect anything from anyone. Today, and every subsequent Valen-birth day, he would just laugh with the others. He would not be fooled, not anymore. Never)

_again._

*

Then again, Mishima was and would always be a complete fool.

The text message arrived with a ringy-ting-ting jingle just before midnight. At first, he elected to ignore it in to finish his turn, sluggishly clicking his mouse around the screen, brain chugging through quick maths to see if playing a risky card would do more harm than good. Two minutes passed, and the reminder notification chimed, _ringy-ting-ting,_ while he took a gurgling sip from his half-emptied energy drink--only to choke and hack upon realizing it was _that_ jingle.

The one he assigned to none other than _Amamiya._

His arm, in jaunty, over-exaggerated movements, batted at the blanket entanglement in a blind attempt to find the submerged cell phone. His energy drink toppled and clattered onto the floor. His laptop teetered dangerously on the edge of the mattress as he abandoned his game (too bad, he was so close to getting up a rank, too) to devote more efforts into searching. 

Two months. It’d been two long, excruciating months since Amamiya’s unjust imprisonment. Two months of staring at the same last text message he received: _“Come over?”_ Mishima took to the streets thereafter, fulfilling his self-appointed role of their trusted admin and PR manager by begging any passerby for signatures to have Amamiya’s case reviewed. Despite his vivid recollection of that fateful December

( _Human rib cages_

_Trapping a metropolis_

_Drowning in red rains_ )

24th, nobody else seemed to want to acknowledge it, or forgot altogether.

(Ms. Kawakami looked over his haiku with a gradual shift in her expression from bored to alarmed. She wanted to say something - she must have remembered that day, too - but instead gave him a tight smile and a perfect grade.

“Good prose,” she said, avoiding meeting his eyes.) 

Mishima believed it to be the latter, otherwise the news would have plastered it on all stations for at least a week. Instead, all they talked about was Senator Shido and how the former-leader of the Phantom Thieves brought the maniac down by sacrificing his own freedom. Nothing on his site’s forum posts gave any indications that the rest of society recalled some huge devil-man descending from thunderclouds and shooting a contemptuous god right in the face.

Gods aside, he needed his phone. He stuck out his tongue and furrowed his brow - his ultimate concentration weapons - before, at last, reclaiming his digital lover of the hour. His eager fingers poked and prodded at the touchscreen, excitement and anxiety welling up in his stomach. One new text message:

**Amamiya Ren:** Hey

That’s it. “Hey.” Fifty stretched-out days of nothing, only to end with a “Hey.” Amamiya could be such a little shit sometimes. Mishima cracked a grin to bury his slight annoyance at the cheeky greeting. He clicked his tongue, staring at the blinking cursor on his phone, before responding in turn,

**Me:** Hey.

There. He could be cheeky, too. He rolled onto his back, staring at the animated three little dots surrounded by a thought-bubble plaguing his screen. He had so many questions he wanted to ask: _Are you okay? They didn’t treat you awful, did they? What was juvenile detention like? How aren’t you more angry? How are you out so soon? Did you miss m--_

**Amamiya Ren:** [Guess who’s back]

**Amamiya Ren:** [Back again]

God dammit. He snorted.

**Me:** Take your terrible English rapping elsewhere.

**Amamiya Ren:** Aw u mad? 

**Amamiya Ren:** this is the part where you should be all “welcome home darling” and smother me in praise about how cool i am escaping jail w/ glorious fanfare

Escape? Mishima sat up, eyes widening.

**Me:** YOU BROKE OUT OF JAIL?!

**Amamiya Ren:** :3c

**Me:** PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE KIDDING.

Two minutes passed without a jingle.

**Me:** AMAMIYA???

**Amamiya Ren:** lol jk jk but u totally believed me didn’t u

**Me:** NOW I’m mad.

**Amamiya Ren:** ): aw cmon u know i’m the best role-model i wud NEVER break out of jail 

**Me:** Liar.

**Amamiya Ren:** at least not until 6 months passed maybe hehe

**Amamiya Ren:** anyways i actually got out earlier 2day bc my super hot lawyer sumhow did sumthng idk the deets but ya

**Me:** How hot?

**Amamiya Ren:** not hotter than u obvs lol ;) besides shes makotos sis and thats just weird lmao

**Amamiya Ren:** she told me that a lot of my friends tried to get support for me

**Amamiya Ren:** and that a certain sumone got many signatures for a petition to reconsider my case

**Me:** Sounds like that someone worked really hard on your behalf. 

**Amamiya Ren:** ya

**Amamiya Ren:** kinda makes up for u trying to use my crew for fame ;)

**Me:** I said I was sorry! Ugh it’s so embarrassing to think about;;

**Amamiya Ren:** messing w/ u lol

**Amamiya Ren:** i already forgave u didnt i? u meant well. its endearing

**Me:** Thank you?

**Amamiya Ren:** oh! look at the time!!

Mishima blinked and glanced at the tiny clock tucked away on the corner of the phone’s screen. 12:05AM. Man, he really needed to stop staying up so late. Then again, if he went to bed by now, he would have missed Amamiya’s text. Still, though.

**Me:** Sorry to keep you up.

**Amamiya Ren:** no dummy its past midnight!! do u know what that means??

**Me:** We missed the Midnight Channel?

**Amamiya Ren:** whoa u remember that small town rumor?? thats dated af

**Amamiya Ren:** now i kinda wanna see if its real to see my soulmate lol

**Amamiya Ren:** maybe its the hot lawyer ;)

**Me:** AMAMIYA….

**Amamiya Ren:** LMAO IM KIDDING cmon yuuki id never. shes like twice my age thats gross 

**Amamiya Ren:** anyways its cold out here and ive been waiting for like forever so like come downstairs and let me in wont u?

**Me:** ?

**Amamiya Ren:** u forgot what today is huh

**Amamiya Ren:** u worked so hard u completely spaced huh

**Me:** YOU ARE OUTSIDE??

**Amamiya Ren:** ya

**Me:** ……….OF MY HOUSE???????

**Amamiya Ren:** ya

Mishima catapulted himself off his bed, tumbled to the floor (banging his already sore knees), and scrambled into the hallway. His feet nearly slipped on the stairs as he all but ran down toward the entrance. Like feverish zombies clawing for fresh meat, he yanked open the obtrusive door, eyes darting about the darkened street for any signs of Amamiya.

And sure enough, leaning against the street lamp’s pole stood Amamiya, spinning his cell phone upon his gloved forefinger. Mishima mistakenly strode out into the cold in just his pajamas and bare feet. His toes demanded compensation for nearly freezing to shriveled stubs while he reached out and touched Amamiya’s snow-covered shoulder.

“You idiot,” Mishima muttered, brushing the snow off. “If you were here, why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Had to wait ‘til after midnight to make it more special,” Amamiya reasoned with a shrug. He glanced over Mishima and frowned. “And it takes one to know one. Where’re your shoes? At least put on socks or something.”

“The last train was hours ago!” Mishima deflected. He pulled Amamiya along by his coat’s sleeve back inside. He closed the front door as quietly as he could, sealing away the bitter chill, before whispering, “You could’ve gotten frostbite or pneumonia! Just text me to let you in next time, got it?” He paused, then his eyebrows rose. “Wait. Why are you here in the first place, anyways? You just got out of jail. Shouldn’t you be relaxing back home?”

Amamiya brushed his floofy hair free of more piled snow, which spilled to the floor like a school girl’s true feelings upon confessing to her crush. Instead of answering, he asked, “What’s today?”

Uh. Mishima slapped absentmindedly for his phone, which still laid abandoned either on his bed or the floor. “Mon--er, Tuesday now, right?”

“The _date,_ ” he elaborated with a sigh. “What’s today’s _date._ ”

“Um.” Mishima’s brow furrowed as his energy drink-addled and sleep-deprived mind slogged to grab at an answer. “February four--?”

Fourteenth. Oh. His reply caught on his teeth, tripping into a bizarre gurgling sound akin to a starving baby bird crying out for its mother. A rancid taste infected his tongue, bile building in the back of his throat, as memory upon memory piled up like plowed and sullied snowbanks. Fourteenth. The corner of his upper lip twitched. He imagined returning the favor to those past “friends” repeatedly, giving them spoiled candy or nasty-written cards to see how _they_ liked it. He never had the heart to go through with it, however; he settled on daydreams. Settled on fantasies where a just punishment would find them someday to make them repent for their actions.

Someday never came, though. The torment stopped when high school arrived, where every day for a year and half became a vitriolic nightmare instead. He’d completely forgotten the holiday last year. And now that he remembered the blur of sneering faces composing his former classmates, he--

“Yuuki?”

Mishima looked up. Amamiya cocked his head to one side, bangs catching on and curling around the faux-glasses’ rims. 

“You in there?”

“Uh - yeah. Sorry, just kind of, you know.” He waved his hand dismissively and gave a sheepish laugh. “Tired, I guess. Been a long two months.” He winced after the admission. Dammit, Amamiya had it _worse,_ and here was Mishima complaining about his own problems again. “I mean--never mind. Forget that.”

“You’re stressing.” Amamiya flicked his forehead gently. “Quit that. Today’s gonna be a _good_ day, ‘specially since I’m free. Here, close your eyes. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Mishima hesitated - he hated surprises (he always researched before committing to something and investigated all possible outcomes just to be prepared, _just in case_ ) - but obeyed. This was Amamiya, after all; not Kamoshida, nor those jerks from middle school. 

A beat passed. His hands raised slightly, fingers unfurling, and a steady weight filled his palms. Chapped lips pressed against his forehead. “‘Kay. You can open your eyes now.”

Mishima squinted and peered down at his hands. A small, sheer-pink bag, with a delicate knot sealing the top, peered back at him, with some heart-shaped (well, in all honesty, some appeared more lump-shaped) chocolates inside. He glanced at Amamiya, who twiddled some bangs between his forefinger and thumb and shifted his weight from one foot to the other before blinking.

“Oh, yeah. And this, too.”

He placed a card, crafted from cheap construction paper, in front of the bag. 

“I didn’t have a lot of time to get anything super elaborate.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “So I winged it. Next year will be better, I promise.”

Next year? Mishima opened the card - the back was speckled with glue spots soaking through to hold the elaborately drawn paper heart to the front - and took a step back when a thicker piece of paper fell out. He picked it up and immediately recognized the emblem emblazoned on it.

A calling card.

_To the one who’s grown from a self-centered fame-mongerer to a more considerate friend:_

_We know of your sins. But we know of your hardships, too. From what many enemies we faced ranging from warped teachers to money-hungry CEOs, you were the only one we didn’t have to fight to get you to see your wrongdoings. You needed us, but we needed you, too, in our darkest hour. Though you saw us as an opportunity to become someone more than a zero, you never WERE a zero. You’re one of US._

_To you, the one who struggled against the wills of fate with us,_

_We will not steal your heart._

_Instead, you may have our Leader’s, who is stupidly in love with you for some reason._

_(BUT YOU BETTER TAKE GOOD CARE OF IT OR I’LL KICK YOUR ASS)_

_(Ditto. Do not harm Ren, lest a far greater punishment will befall you.)_

_(guys we were trying to make this more romantic not make it a death threat?)_

_ANYWAYS_

_Happy Valentine’s / Birthday from the Phantom Thieves! <3_

_(P.S. The chocolates are handmade. Ren made them but he wasn’t going to tell you so I’m adding it here now that he’s done reading it. :) -Ann)_

Mishima bit his trembling bottom lip. Amamiya’s hands were both stuffed in his coat’s pockets now, head lowered just enough to obscure his eyes. His face remained carefully blank. If Mishima knew any better, he’d guess that Amamiya seemed _nervous._ But he was the leader of the Phantom Thieves, so there was no way that was the case. Maybe.

“This is,” Mishima managed, swallowing down the urge to cry like a sniveling little kid, “for me?”

“Do you see anyone else I’m giving this to?”

“But I didn’t,” he stammered, flipping over the calling card and eying the chocolates, “I didn’t get you anything.”

“I didn’t expect you to. I mean, pssh, I didn’t think I’d be out by now.” He shrugged. “Besides, you gave me things for Christmas. So.” He paused. “Yuuki?”

“This isn’t a joke?”

“What?”

“You’re being,” Mishima rubbed at his eyes - dammit, stop being so emotional, he felt so stupid, “serious? This isn’t a prank?”

Silence. A dreaded, looming silence settled between them. Amamiya frowned, pulled off his boots, and then hung his coat on the rack. Mishima’s parents were going to have _so_ many questions tomorrow morning. Amamiya tilted his head toward the stairs. “Want to take this conversation elsewhere?”

Mishima led the way to his room, card and chocolates pressed tightly to his chest. He was tired. His head throbbed. If Amamiya was serious, then this would be the first time since--since when? Grade school?--since forever ago that he got a legitimate _gift_ from someone other than his mom. Maybe he dozed off. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe Amamiya was still incarcerated, and maybe tomorrow Mishima would drag his lazy butt out of bed to take to the streets with one measly pen and a clipboard filled with illegible signatures. 

When the door closed behind them, he still hadn’t woken up.

Amamiya wrapped his hands around Mishima’s waist as he set down the gifts onto his desk.

“Why would you think it was a joke?” 

“Because that’s how it’s always been.” His answer sounded rehearsed, robotic, much like the curt laugh that followed it.

A kiss on the back of his neck. “That doesn’t mean it’s how it’ll _always_ be. Remember?” Another kiss, more delicate, on his shoulder. “I kicked god’s ass with the power of friendship and the Internet? The same god that thought they’d reign supreme for eternity or some shit? Big gun? Lots of magical powers? Kinda hard to miss. Point is, nothing remains the same forever.”

It seemed like slipshod logic, but Mishima understood somewhat. He turned, and then trailed his fingertips along the front of Amamiya’s shirt. “Sorry,” he muttered, leaning forward. “For doubting you for a second there.”

“You’re fine. We’re fine.”

“Still, though.” Mishima looked up. “I feel like I--”

“Yuuki.” Amamiya pressed his finger against Mishima’s lips. “Stop thinking so much, yeah? It’s been a long two months. Relax.”

He inhaled slowly, and allowed his eyes to close. The kiss felt tentative, as though Amamiya were cradling a precious gem - like a diamond, though if touched incorrectly, it would shatter to teeny-tiny fragments that would take an eon or five to piece back together. The next one was deeper, and longer, and with enough force that Mishima stepped back, back, back, collapsed onto the bed. Amamiya’s steady weight pinned him down.

“Amamiya,” he murmured.

“It’s Ren. We’ve been over this.”

“Right.” His fingers found purchase in the tangled locks of Am--Ren’s hair. “Yeah. Sorry. Old habits die hard. Cut your manager some slack.”

“If you keep calling me that, I’ll just call you Yuu-Yuu.”

“Don’t you _dare.”_

“Why not? I think it’s cute.”

“Should I call you Ren-Ren then?”

He felt Ren grin against his cheek. “They can be our pet names. Cuter than ‘babe,’ at any rate.”

“We can make any finalizations of these so-called pet names of yours tomorrow after we _sleep,”_ Mishima sighed. Laying like this, the forgotten exhaustion seized his body captive, shackling him to the bed. “Ren?”

“Mm?”

“You made the chocolates, right?”

Ren pushed himself up and stared down at Mishima, nose scrunching. “Who told you. That was supposed to be a secret. Did Ann write it in the letter?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Lemme see that stupid thing.” He swatted at the desk, outstretching his fingertips in a failed effort to swipe the calling card. Mishima laughed and took the hand instead, lacing their fingers together.

“It’s my letter. Did I give you permission to read it?”

“I’m a Phantom Thief. Do I care for silly rules like that?” Ren squeezed Mishima’s hand, goal abandoned. 

“You _will_ care if you want me to share my chocolate tomorrow,” he teased, pulling off Ren’s glasses with his spare hand and putting them aside. He lowered his voice. “Really, though. You didn’t have to.”

“But it made you happy, right?”

Mishima paused, and allowed himself to smile. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Ren returned the smile, revealing his illusory dimples. 

They dozed in a heap, managing to get Ren out of jeans (the hems were soaked from slush puddles and cold to the touch) before cuddling. Mishima’s blood buzzed with a content happiness; the vacant emptiness of the past two months filled in with milk chocolate and kind words. Someone remembered. _They_ remembered. Tomorrow, he would have to give something in return - maybe go to some cafe, get some expensive meal or dessert or something, just the two of them. 

Before drifting to sleep, he heard a faint whisper:

_Love you._

*

(“My, what a handsome friend you have!” his mom exclaimed. “You should bring him over more often. Don’t be shy - have all the pancakes you want, dear.”

Mishima and Ren exchanged snickers as she made extra pancakes, chock-full of blueberries, just as he liked them.

Best birthday ever.)


End file.
